


I’m bad at love (lookin’ at my history)

by shield_maiden



Series: Harringrove [8]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, billy is a masochist bc he hates himself, mentions of domestic violence, underaged drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:21:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: Billy starts to push himself, once he realises that he’s in love with Steve. It’s more like punishing himself —an entirely different game to the one he plays with everyone else, that game is about power. He runs laps on the basketball court until his legs feel like jello and his lungs are screaming for him to stop. He gets into even more stupid fights than usual, because the feeling of someone’s fist slamming into his face feels justified, like he deserves it for being fucking queer enough to be in love with another guy, and for being too much of a pussy to do anything about it.





	I’m bad at love (lookin’ at my history)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Bad At Love by Halsey.

Billy starts to push himself, once he realises that he’s in love with Steve. It’s more like punishing himself —an entirely different game to the one he plays with everyone else, that game is about power. He runs laps on the basketball court until his legs feel like jello and his lungs are screaming for him to stop. He gets into even more stupid fights than usual, because the feeling of someone’s fist slamming into his face feels justified, like he deserves it for being fucking queer enough to be in love with another guy, and for being too much of a pussy to do anything about it.

He tries even harder to avoid Steve, because he fucking hates the way his heart aches every time he sees him. (It’s worse, now that Steve is very obviously not sleeping and probably not eating either and seems to be existing on a diet comprised solely of coffee, Billy has to remind himself that nothing good will come of his involvement, because he can’t fix any of this. The only thing his presence will do in Steve’s life is make it worse.)

Sex with Stacy helps, it keeps his mind off of everything, keeps him as sane as he can be when he’s looking for fights and hates himself so much it feels like it’s burning him alive. He wouldn’t call what they have a relationship, but she does, hanging off of him every spare moment of the day, calling him ‘baby’ (he definitely doesn’t imagine what that pet name would sound like coming from Steve, and the idea of it definitely doesn’t fill him with longing. Except it totally does and he’s so screwed).

This is for Steve’s own good.

Billy knows he’s terrible at loving anything, and Steve deserves so much more than that.

All of the distractions and the self punishment work, for a while at least.

Until one day they don’t.

* * *

 

He’s drunk on a school night from the clear burn of vodka, blowing smoke rings in the dark as he lies flat on his back in the park two blocks from his house. His cheek throbs dully under the bruises that were a gift from his fathers fists. The irony in the fact that he thinks of them as a gift these days, as a thankful distraction from the incessant want he feels when he looks at Steve, isn’t lost on him at all., he thinks as the cold dew from the grass beneath him soaks slowly into his jacket.

The bottle of vodka is still gripped loosely in his hand, shrouded in inconspicuous brown paper, and he debates propping himself up on his elbows to take another drink. But that would involve taking the cigarette out of his mouth and his fingers are numb to the bone. He’s still debating it with himself when he hears footsteps coming closer and he frowns to himself.

_Who the fuck would be out at this time of night in a fucking children’s playground in the middle of Hawkins suburbia?_

He snorts at himself when he remembers that he’s out here in the middle of the night in a fucking children’s playground in the middle of Hawkins suburbia. _Pot, kettle._

He lifts his head, preparing to tell who ever it is to fuck off and that he’s fine, thank you very much. But the words quickly die on his lips when he sees who it is.

It’s Steve. His shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, looking like a deer in headlights as he takes in Billy’s splayed out form on the grass. Billy sees the moment his gaze catches on the bruise on his cheek, and the look on the other teens face makes something pang inside of him. He lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a swig to settle his nerves and hopefully hide the shock on his face. Steve just stares at him, eyes wide. He lowers the bottle again, relishing the burn in his throat and tries to look as bored as he can.

“Problem, Harrington?” It comes out just as snarky as he’d hoped. Unreadable emotions flicker across Steve’s face, and Billy lets his head fall back down into the grass, his neck muscles tense and aching. He half expects Steve to respond, almost wants him to, that sick voice in his head telling him to strike and make Steve hate him, because Steve probably should hate him.

  
It would be easier, he thinks, to not be in love with Steve if Steve hated him.

Instead Steve just walks away into the night without a word and Billy listens to his footsteps recede until it’s like he was never there at all and scowls up at the stars like they’re the ones at fault here.

_What the fuck?_

* * *

 

The next morning he has another hangover, and as much as he’d love to stay at home and sleep, Neil and Susan are home, and he’s expected to take Max to school, like the responsible big brother he’s meant to be. Plus he knows that staying home will make them ask questions, and they’re questions he doesn’t want to answer.

So he gets up and skips breakfast, his stomach lurching dangerously at the very thought of food and waits in the car for Max to get her book bag, his aviators shielding his eyes from the worst of the harsh light of day. He even turns the music down, prompting Max to stare at him like he’s some strange new creature she’s never seen before and isn’t entirely sure is poisonous or not.

They don’t speak during the drive, Max just stares out the window and Billy just stares at the road and tries not to feel too nauseous. He’s not sure what is making him more nauseated, the hangover, or the fact that he’s going to have to see Steve at school. Probably a little of both.

He stops the car near the Middle School and lets Max out, she’s still looking at him weirdly, like he’s a mystery she’s trying to solve. But then she’s surrounded by her loser friends and he’s free to go on his way.

He’s barely locked the Camaro before Stacy throws herself at him. Her perfume is sweet and sickly and Billy definitely feels like he’s going to throw up. He firmly extricates himself from her grip, mumbling some bullshit excuse about having to meet Tommy before class and tries not to breathe until he’s five feet or more away from her, fighting the urge to dry heave.

He spends first period history dozing in his seat at the back of the classroom. How he doesn’t get called on he doesn’t know but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth today.

Next period is econ. And econ means Steve. Billy almost considers not going. But he’s skipped a lot of econ classes lately and there’s a test coming up and he needs to keep his B average if he doesn’t want to get beaten to a pulp so he sucks it up and slinks in, trying to be casual when deep down he wants Steve to notice him, wants Steve to call him out on his bullshit.

He takes a seat a few rows further back than usual, away from his usual spot behind Steve. He’s wearing that ugly fucking polo again, and looks as shit as Billy feels. Which is really saying something because Billy feels like he might be dying.

Somehow he makes it through the day, even stomaching lunch in the cafeteria without wanting to hurt someone. But it’s a near thing when Stacy seems hell bent on being attached at the hip. He regrets deciding to get a girlfriend now, he’d forgotten how clingy they could be. And Stacy is so vapid she makes Carol seem like Einstein. And she’s not even that good of a distraction, when some part of his brain is always intensely focused on Steve despite his best efforts.

It’s a real problem.

* * *

 

He manages to avoid any actual interaction with Steve, right up until the very end of the day.

He’s halfway to his car when he sees him, leaning casually against the camaro’s drivers side door with those fucking Ray Bans on and looking like he has all the time in the damn world. Which Billy does not. He has to get Max home. He doesn’t have time for this shit, he tells himself as he approaches. Yeah, that’s why he’s mad. He’s not mad because despite all his efforts he’s still so hung up on him, that his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest or stop beating all together every time he sees him. Definitely not.

  
“Don’t you have your own car to lean on?” He spits, throwing all of his frustration and anger behind the words. “Because I’ve gotta go.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, but he shrugs, casually crossing his arms over his chest and Billy wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. “I just thought we should talk.”

“Yeah?” He snorts running a hand through his hair. “Talk about what princess? The fact that you’re being a giant pain in my ass? The fact that I need to pick up Max if I don’t want shit from my dad?”

Steve stiffens at that and thankfully, blessedly, moves away from the car door so that Billy can actually unlock it but not far enough for him to open it and get in.

“Okay, fine. Liz is having some party tomorrow night. A bonfire in the woods.” Billy allows himself a glance at Steve, trying to glean some kind of hidden meaning from his statement and why he wants to talk about Liz and her fucking bonfire that Stacy has coerced him into attending. He tries not to notice how close they’re standing now, right in each other’s personal space, or how Steve’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip.

“No shit.” He grumbles, looking at the brunette expectantly, waiting for him to cut to the chase.

“Be there.” Is all Steve says as he pushes away from the car and pivots to walk towards his own, leaving Billy gaping at his retreating back.

_Again, what the fuck?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr @crimson—petrichor! I promise I’m nice! And I love each and every comment left!


End file.
